“I do not fear him,” he said.  “It is impossible that if a chief lies there he can be wroth with men who will do naught but honour him.  Think—­is there any honour to the mighty dead that he should wander across the lone sea thus, as we met him?”

I knew that he was right, and did not gainsay him.  After all, we were sure to have looked into that chamber presently, and to have found what I feared—­suddenly and unexpectedly—­would have been worse.  So I set my fears aside as best I could, and went forward with them both to the end of the house, in which we had seen no sign of door.  I thought that perhaps the upright timbers which closed the end might be loose; but they were nailed to the roof beam, against which they were set too firmly for us to move them, and we must look for some axe or other tool.

“One of the chests forward is the ship’s carpenter’s,” said Dalfin.  “I opened it when we sought for food just now.”

He slipped round the house and came back with a heavy hammer and a broad chisel.  Bertric took them, and prised away the upper end of the midmost timber without any trouble.  Then he drew it toward him, and the lower end wrenched free at once, for the nails that held this building which was to be burnt were not long.  And while he did this, he stood on one side, that he might not pry into the chamber idly, as it were, while Dalfin and I could see nothing from where we stood.  Only a little peat smoke seemed to come out gently when the timber had gone.

It did but need that two more timbers should be moved thus, and there was room enough for a man to pass through.  Then Bertric set down the hammer, and took off his rough sea cap, smiling a little, yet with grave eyes, and so looked in.  Dalfin pressed close to him, but I stood aside still.

“The place is full of the peat smoke.  I can see nothing,” Dalfin said.

“Somewhat white on the floor,” said Bertric; “but we block the light.”

He stood aside, and the shadowless brightness shone across the chamber through the thinning peat smoke.  I saw him start a little, and Dalfin signed himself with his holy sign once or twice.  Then I must look also, almost in spite of myself, and I went forward quietly.

Chapter 4:  By Sea And Fire.

It was even as I thought.  There lay in state, as his men had left him, a wonderful old chief, whose long, white beard swept like a snowdrift down the crimson cloak in which he was shrouded.  They had set him on just such a low, carved bedstead as that which we had found outside the house, dressed in his full mail, and helmed, and with his sword at his side, such a priceless weapon, with gold-mounted scabbard and jewelled hilt, as men have risked the terrors of grave mounds to win.  His white hand rested on the pommel, and he was facing forward as if looking toward the far shore which he was to reach through the flames.  But there was naught terrible in his look, and even my fears passed as I saw the peacefulness of that last sleep.